


even if it leads nowhere

by reinacadeea



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Also there needs to be more mcdean reunion fics, Craig POV, M/M, being super meta about the impact of respresentation on soap operas, brief mention of ste/jp, brief non explicit mention of finn, nod to my fave robert sugden, post JP exit anno 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:26:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinacadeea/pseuds/reinacadeea
Summary: learning to love yourself is the hardest part.Or, Craig Dean - an evolution





	

**Author's Note:**

> There weren't any mcdean reunion fics, so I wrote one.
> 
> All the feels.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

"I'm sorry, Craig," his boss says. 

"You can't just fire me." He can feel the anger inside him brimming underneath the surface, telling him that his life has once again spun off his axis and all he has to show for it is a savings account and no one to spend it on but himself. 

"You're a clever lad. You'll find something else." 

He snorts. "Why then?"

"You're the only one here who has no one to support. You all started at the same time, but we had to chose."

He goes home to his apartment - the one he had to downsize after taking this new job. It was a risk and he knew it but it was what he really wanted. Now it's just empty and he has nowhere to go tomorrow. 

He had a family once, he thinks, someone really. Would he have been fired if he'd popped the question to Lena or Rochelle? What if the patter of John Paul's boy had been happening in their old apartment and he had been theirs? 

Owen, the Australian chef who never left, meets him at the local and carefully listens while Craig complains. 

"My life is shit," he finishes into his pint and Owen arches his eyebrow. 

"You dumped Rochelle for this job, Craig," he says. 

"Hindsight and all," Craig mutters. 

"Lena dumped you for always working," Owen continues. 

Craig hmms.

"In fact you haven't had anything but work in your life for the last four years." 

"Don't remind me."

Owen knew John Paul, one of those people who remember Craig before and after and he doesn't say much, doesn't point it out. But it's there, this thing between them, that thing that Craig can't shake off.

He had loved someone once. He had loved with every fibre of his being, his heart full to the bursting and his body tingling every time John Paul had touched him. He had loved so much that...

"I don't want to talk about him," Craig tells his well-meaning mate.

"Okay," Owen says. "But you can't keep sticking ya head in the sand."

He casually hands over his beat up Samsung, cracked screen and all, lights it up and shows Craig a new Facebook post.

John Paul McQueen  
Decided to leave Hollyoaks to see the world. Singapore, here we come! 

-

He doesn't think much about John Paul. Honest, he doesn't. He thinks about sex with Lena and sex with Rochelle and the look in their eyes when they inevitably found out that he existed in Craig's life for years. 

"It's fine," Lena said. "Everyone experiments."

It wasn't.

"My niece fancies herself bisexual," Rochelle said. "She's always on about that tall blonde bloke from Emmerdale." 

Instinctually, he replies: "I'm not", but the taste on his tongue when he denies it is sharp and bitter. He's gone through enough sexually related freakouts in his lifetime and he can't stand another. Not now - not again.

So yeah, he's lying to himself. He thinks about John Paul every day. He thinks about how they ended, how much he hates John Paul for standing up to him, for making him choose. All of it is a horrible terrible memory that he can't make go away. He's bitter and he was nasty when they could have ended so much better. John Paul should have known not to push, should have known better. But no, he's always demanding things and for Craig to talk about things and be honest...

He doesn't realise he's been pacing his apartment until he's got John Paul's number dialled up, thinking it's too late and this'll be it. 

But the phone clicks and the ringing stops.

"You can't just go to Singapore!" he blurts out. "That's half the world away." 

The phone clicks off, the dial tone a painful reminder that they're not face to face. 

He redials. Waits. Paces. Frets.

"The plane's about to take off, Craig," John Paul says and Craig almost chokes. "You can't just..."

"It wasn't... I wasn't... it's not. I mean, what so important in Singapore?" He asks flustered.

He can hear the safety message in the background.

"Nothing," John Paul answers. "That's the point I suppose." 

Craig swallows. 

"Look, don't call me, right. It's not fair to me," John Paul says seriously. "I've just sat here promising my son that it's just gonna be me and him for a while. I can't, okay. Not again."

"Yeah yeah," Craig says around something that feels suspiciously like heartburn. And not the real kind, the heartache kind. 

For the could-have-hads, for the many bloody mistakes, for Craig to realise at the age of nineteen that he's found the one. And it's not fair. It's not fair that he can't handle it. 

"Bye, Craig," John Paul says. 

The line is dead before he can reply with something stupid like 'I love you' or 'I can't live without you'. He's tried. He's turned the sentiment into something empty because he believed it when he said it, but he allowed it to be something nasty, too. Something that he could never get his head around off.

"John Paul," he says uselessly. Flippin heck.

-

"I've got no job, no girlfriend and I think I might have another sexuality crisis."

Owen sits down in his chef's uniform, dirty from that night's service, and steals a chip from Craig's plate. 

"Well, a voluntary sexuality crisis," Craig amends. 

"So what shade of queer are you then?" 

The little backroom where the non-smokers can partake in a break is private enough that Craig feels half ways confident about having this particular conversation at all. 

Still, the questions catches him off guard.

"I don't think that there are shades, mate," he tells Owen. 

Owen shrugs. "Why not? Not everyone is talk show gay, you know. There is more to the sexuality spectrum than Graham Norton and Alan Carr." 

"Since when are you an expert?" 

"I'm not, but I'm not blind to the changing climate either," Owen says casually. "A little compassion and understanding can go a long way." 

"I'm compassionate," Craig says spitefully. 

Owen leans forward. "What you are is indoctrinated into thinking you can either be this or that. John Paul's gay. He can't fall in love with anyone but boys. I'm not saying it's easier for him but it certainly clears up who he can be with." 

"You think I'm bisexual then?" 

"I think your brain has stopped producing all those teenage hormones and you're starting to realise that John Paul's the love of your life. But you can't have him unless you're honest with yourself. What's important is what do you think?" 

Craig remembers everything. He remembers every dirty joke Jake threw at him and the mocking twist of his mother's mouth when she talked about 'the gays'. She's changed. She changed for the better, but he can't forget, not really. 

"My boss, my EX boss, said something," he tells Owen. "He said I was the only one without anyone else to support. That's why he fired me. I'm alone. But I'm not, not in here." He presses his hand to his heart hard. "I've got John Paul and it's not wrong."

"Craig, when are you going to realise that the only thing that matters about this is what you think," Owen says. "Forget about John Paul. Forget Lena or Rochelle or any of them. Think about you."

-

It takes him a week before he stops calling it the 'Sexuality Crisis of Doom version 80' and starts to refer to it as 'a bit of soul searching'. Owen for all his macho posturing, for the world he inhabits, is remarkably emphatic to others. He listens and he shit-talks, but he is the sort of bloke Craig sometimes wishes he could be. He breezes through life with confidence, succeeds in his endeavours and remains down to earth. And he's right. He's absolutely right.

This thing inside Craig is nasty. 

He casually walks through Trinity, remembering the optimism he felt finishing, thinking he had it made. He's not got anything. He's got less than he's ever had. 

The meeting is nearly full when he gets there, when he stops pretending that this wasn't what he came to Trinity for in the first place. The Rainbow flag is proudly displayed and a woman with a buzz cut and a flannel shirt is carefully cutting a rainbow coloured cake into pieces. There is so many of them, so diverse and different. 

He hides in the background, listening to the planning of a pro-choice demonstration that they're thinking about supporting next month. He hears about the party they held, Trina and Anne getting married. 

"The fundraising is frankly shit," Deena says. She's the mediator for today. "And Tom's gone to Hong Kong to work for a big bank there. We need help. Anyone knows a sister or a cousin who knows numbers?" 

"Don't think my dad'll support us," a man says, arms crossed defiantly. "Plonker."

"I can do it," Craig hears himself speaking up.

Heads turn to him and he flushes. 

"Are you new, mister?" Deena asks pleasantly. "You'd be our saving grace." 

"Craig, Craig Dean," he says awkwardly. "I can do it."

'It' turns out to be a home for LGBT youth. He doesn't realise how many prejudices he had before he was confronted with the reality of it all. He's avoided putting a name to the feelings inside him for so long that he is ashamed when he hears and sees the struggles. He's not alone. He's never been alone. Loving John Paul was one thing - being open and honest is quite another.

It's about five weeks when a friend request plings into his phone. It's a picture of John Paul and Matthew in front of some sort of exotic tree. He accepts it immediately. 

Another week goes by before Craig hears anything new from him. He's bookkeeping for Sanctuary now, one of his now many odd jobs at the home. He shops, makes dinner, plays footie. He keeps a roof over their heads. 

It doesn't pay much. But he realises that it's not important.

'I've been trying to put it behind me. But you're Craig and I'm John Paul and maybe we're always meant to be in each other's orbit. I found a box back in my room in Chester and there was this picture of us, an old one. It made me feel happy and I can't remember the last time thinking of you didn't leave a bitter taste in my mouth. 

You and me, we were worth it. We made a go of it and I'll always treasure that. In a way, you gave me Matthew and he will forever be a constant in a life that I haven't overly enjoyed lately. 

I don't know where life takes me, but I do know that you will always have been a part of it and I'm better for it.

Love John Paul.'

It sounds like a goodbye. It really does. 

It's late when he reads it and the office space he's taken over from Tom, whoever he is, is cluttered with nick nacks that helps make the place go around. He's got a bad lamp shining over the books and an old-fashioned pen. It'll do until he can find enough money in the budget to pay for the Office package on the laptop. 

'Owen's been good to me,' he writes back. 'We've talked a lot about regrets. He regrets how he and Marnie's ended up divorced and the kid split between two homes. I'm single. For the first time in years I'm actually single and I'm understanding that I hate it. I'm not built to be alone and maybe that's why I jump from one to the next, never giving myself time to think. But I'm thinking now. 

If I were to die tomorrow my biggest regret would be us, not for what we had but for the mistakes I made, for my refusal to learn and accepting myself. I regret Matthew, not that he is yours but that we stopped basing our relationship on truth and blinded ourselves to the realities. 

I regret that I couldn't love myself more. But I'm done being bitter. I want to move forward. 

Love always, Craig.'

Facebook messenger shows John Paul reading it almost instantly and Craig can't handle it. His heart is thumping painfully and his palms are sweaty. 

'It's funny how things change,' John Paul replies. 'You're finally sorting yourself out but I'm realising I will never go back to the confident teenager I once was. I don't think you'd like me anymore.'

'Rubbish,' Craig writes back instantly. 'Tell me everything.'

-

One night, a not so very interesting night, he'd gone out with some old mates. Rochelle blushed and introduced herself, charming everyone and their grandmother. She's confident really, strong, but new people never really went well in her books. He's found it endearing, he remembers absently, and wonders what she's doing now. Probably that baker that was always hanging around her flat. 

"Do you think he knows?" Betty had asked Owen, thinking they were alone.

"About John Paul getting married?" Owen had said. "He's not said anything."

"Should we tell him?" Betty was the kind of girl who had instantly felt a connection with John Paul and it's not surprising that she would have kept up with his life post break up. Craig remembers coming home to see them in front of the telly watching the Kardashians, one of their many traditions, conspiring for the next get-together. 

"Maybe it'll make him realise that he doesn't love this new girl," Betty had continued. 

"He likes her alright," Owen had said. "That's the problem. He wants both but he can't see out of his own prejudices." 

Craig had left them to it, making assumptions about things that had nothing to do with them. John Paul was his business alone. What he wanted to know what nothing. 

He got so drunk that night that he couldn't get out of bed for three days. Looking back, maybe it hadn't been the alcohol that had kept him bedridden. 

-

Finn.

He knows now.

It doesn't change anything.

-

"They're asking me to stay for another semester," John Paul tells him one evening. Because they talk now. 

"Right," Craig says. Come back come back come back come back. 

"Dunno if I will. It's been amazing and all but I miss England," he sounds pensive to Craig's ear, but only fake pensive like he wants something. 

"Myra would love to have you back."

There is silence on the other end.

"Or..." Craig says.

"Yeah?" 

Craig swallows deeply. "Well, you know."

"Say it."

"Come back."

Deena waves at him through the window to the café.

"Think about it," he tells John Paul and ends the conversation without waiting for a response. 

"What's got you bright and chipper, lad?" she says, grinning. "Have you got someone? Tell me all about it!"

"He's my Marie," he tells her seriously and the mood shifts just a bit. The gaping open wound surrounding Marie's tragic death is sobering to any conversation. But it's the only apt description he has. John Paul is his whatchamacallit just as Marie was Deena's. Deena will understand it. 

She puts her hand over his. "Go for it. Just go for it," she says seriously. 

"I will." It's a promise. 

-

He's barely fourteen the lad sitting outside Sanctuary hunched over. 

"Hello," Craig says. It's early morning, but the birds have been chirping for hours. He'd planned to do Sunday pancakes and wanted to get a head start. 

"You work here?" The boy is local and he looks about as skittish as an abused cat. 

"Yeah," Craig replies. "Do you want a brew?" 

The boy shrugs but he follows Craig inside anyway, staring at the furniture and the posters and the general interior. 

"I'm Craig."

"Declan."

Craig holds out the pot of teabags and Declan looks at him stupidly before he chooses Earl Grey. The kettle announces its finished and they sit about for a while doing nothing. 

"Are you gay?" Declan asks. 

"No," Craig replies honestly and the boy looks crestfallen. "I'm bisexual."

"That's a bit of a cop out, innit? Ma always says about that Emmerdale lad." 

"You're taking coming-out advice from a soap opera?" Craig says incredulously. "Isn't that a bit of a cop-out?" 

Declan shrugs. "It's always on a dinner time."

"Are you gay, Declan?" 

Declan pours loads of sugar in his tea, avoiding the question. 

"You don't have to be anything at all," Craig says softly. "But it might give you a bit of peace of mind if you think about it."

The silence stretches and the house begins to wake up slowly, tired-looking people emerging.

"When did you know?"

The question is low, almost too low, but Craig catches it.

"I didn't," he answers honestly. "I refused to acknowledge it for years. Started resenting it instead."

Declan looks around. "But you work here?" 

"You're allowed not to know who you are. I spent years not knowing who I was," Craig says. "I want to be brave now."

-

It's been months since he called John Paul on his way to Singapore. It's late summer, the heat exaggerating everything about this moment. 

Owen is holding a coffee in one hand and a parcel in the other, shifting around just a bit.

"We could sit down," he suggests but Craig shakes his head no.

"What if he doesn't like me?" 

"I'm fairly sure John Paul like you, mate."

Craig gives him a sharp look. "Not John Paul. Well, okay, also John Paul. It's Matthew. I've never even met him."

Owen doesn't tell him to relax. It's been so long. 

"This time we are going to do it properly," he promises himself. "We'll date and communicate." 

"Possibly, a house, a car and a ring," Owen says pointedly. 

Craig cracks a nervous smile. "You're not helping."

Owen smirks. "Of course I am."

-

And then suddenly John Paul is there. The world shifts, realign, settles. 

"Hiya," John Paul says.

"Hi," Craig says.

Outside the sun sets. 

 

Fin.  
(13-3-17)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as reinacadeea as well. For any HO folks who don't me through emmerdale, come and have a looksie. Throw me a comment and my week will me made!


End file.
